I am an uplander. I did not grow up near the coast. If ever I wanted to go to the coast, it took me hours to get there. And I did not go there often.

Still don’t. It’s been at least two years since I’ve been anywhere even close to a saltwater marsh and that was a trip to Mobile Bay.

My point is that I am not an expert in anything related to the experience of coastal life. I’ve never been saltwater fishing. I don’t mess with alligators. I would never ride out a hurricane. And, I have no idea how to shuck an oyster without the use of a 24 oz. hammer.

I am particularly pitiful when it comes to eating crab legs.

Marion and I were in Carrollton on a Saturday a couple of weeks back. We went there to go junk shopping and to visit some old friends of mine. We kinda rolled through lunch and by 2:30 we were hungry.

“You want to snack or eat a real meal?” she asked me.

“I don’t think crackers will cut it.”

“Well, if we eat a nice meal now, we’ll get in and out before the crowd, and we can eat popcorn for supper when we get home.”

“Deal,” I said.

We ate at Shuckers. We knew it would be good. Plus, seafood just sounded appealing for a change. I ordered the crab legs.

I have eaten crab legs less than a dozen times in my entire life. For me, eating crab legs is like being in a foreign country not knowing exactly what to do with what’s on the plate in front of me. I simply go to battle and mutilate them.

But I like crab legs. What’s not to like? I also love fried catfish, which, by the way, can be eaten without going to war.

Here’s how it went. They brought me a tray of spiny looking pink legs. It came with a gizmo that looks similar to the nutcracker my mama used when she would break open pecan shells.

First you break off a leg from the bunch. If you do it right, you get crab juice in your eye. Then you take the gizmo, get it around the leg, squeeze, bend, and snap the leg in two. When that fails, you twist, tug, pull, and wrangle it like you’ve got ahold of a giant snake.

They gave me a tiny fork to help extract the meat. And when I say tiny, I mean microscopic. You dig. You forage. You scrounge.

After about 10 minutes on one leg, I ended up with enough shredded crab meat to fill a thimble.

Mm, Mmm, good!

I admit, I am a train wreck at eating crab legs. Which could be why I don’t have them very often. Also, because, after eating crab legs, I’ve worked so dang hard for so little food that I’m hungry when I get done.

Part two of this story.

Marion and her family frequented the coast for years. They were weekend saltwater warriors. Saltwater boat. Saltwater fishing. Saltwater eating. Saltwater living.

Eating crab legs became second nature to them.

So, when Marion suggested that we have a crab boil last Sunday, I said “Sure.” They know what they’re doing. I’ve never had crab legs twice in the same month, much less, twice in the same year.

Her entire gang showed up. The big pot was boiling on the burner out by the garage. Red potatoes. Smoked sausage. Corn on the cob. Shrimp. And, finally, the crab legs.

I knew the food would be great. If I’ve learned anything in the past year and a half, when Marion says that she’ll throw something together, it’s usually enough to feed an army, and it’ll be good enough to eat yourself into a food coma.

The corn went in first, followed by the potatoes and sausage. Once they were done and drained off, the crab legs went for a short swim. Last, 5 pounds of shrimp hit the water and in just a few minutes came out perfectly pink and tender.

Inside the house, Shannen and Charlie were getting the kitchen ready. Plastic and newspaper spread over the center island like a blanket. Three different dipping sauces. Garlic butter. Garlic cheesy biscuits. Sour cream and butter for the potatoes. Plates were optional.

The feast was spread out before us. All of us standing around the island. Little Caleb said the blessing. Short and to the point. And the elbows started flying.

Because I was the rookie, I received a lot of instructions on how to eat crab legs. I was good with the corn, potatoes and sausage. But the crab legs were whooping my derriere.

“What are you doing?”

There was little if any sympathy.

“You’ve been working on that one crab leg for ten minutes.”

Please, point out my obvious shortcomings.

In my defense, this kitchen did not supply any of those little nutcracker thingies. We were bare handing these legs. They did have the tiny little forks. And there was a plastic gadget that looked like an old timey can opener.

“You just run it up inside the leg and split the shell apart,” they said.

Yep, if you have hands made of steel.

Meanwhile, Charlie, Bobby, and Shannen were popping those legs apart with one snap of the wrist and pulling out long, beautiful pieces of crab meat. I had two thimbles worth of shredded meat on my paper plate. I’d pinch up a small bite, dip it and my fingertips in the garlic butter just to get a taste.

I asked Shannen. “How do you do that?”

She was so helpful. “I don’t know.”

So, I watched, hoping to pick up a new skill. She’d snap a leg in the middle and pull the shell clear of the meat, then she’d gently work the other end of the meat free from the other end of the leg and slowly pull it out. And she did this with only her hands. And she did it every time.

Before long, I had a mangled-up pile of hollow crab legs on the newspaper next to my plate. I’m guessing that I had maybe a total of four decent bites of crab out of that carnage. Thank goodness we had the shrimp, corn, sausage, and taters to go with it.

I know this much. If all there was to eat was crab legs, I’d starve to death.

I gotta say though, it was a fantastic meal. We cleared a few pans and dishes, rolled up all the spillage inside the newspaper, and cleanup was done.

After all the kids and grands loaded up and went home, we talked about the evening.

“I noticed, you didn’t dig into the crab legs,” I told Marion.

She was holding the baby and eating with one hand. I figured that was the reason.

“Shoot,” she said. “I can’t break ‘em and peel ‘em like the kids can. I wasn’t gonna make a fool of myself. I had fun watching you, though.”

Mercy! Just another confirmation that this family keeps me around merely for the entertainment.